When I'm Sixty Four
by streco
Summary: Angel and Collins are alone in their apartment, and Collins starts to think... and then sings a song to Angel, wondering how long she'll love him for. Second AC fic ever, first one where Angel's actually alive! :


**A/N:** So I was listening to my Beatles tunes, as I do a lot. I absolutely love them, by the way. Before Across the Universe. Before Beatles night on American Idol. I always loved the Beatles—I grew up listening to them. :) Rubber Soul was always my favorite album.

Anyway. This song totally reminded me of Angel and Collins, I could just see them skipping around singing that, so I made it happen. :) This song is so upbeat, and actually a little sadenning when you think that Angel and Collins really couldn't do it... but anwyay. This is my first A/C fic where Angel's alive, my second one in total. Be nice? By the way: Angel's a "he" in this story simply because he's not in drag. :)

When I'm Sixty-Four

A handsome man with a slight frame and almost feminine features was sprawled out upon a torn leather couch, shivering from the chilliness in the air. Frosty New York City air bit at his exposed neck, and he pulled his thin blanket closer to his chin and tried to get it to stay there. However, when he went to wrap his arms around his torso, the blanket would move, and he let out a short whimper.

"What are you whining about?" Came a reply from the kitchen, along with the squeal of a kettle. The man in the kitchen—tall, dark, and handsome, as Angel called him—was preparing tea, and the steam emerging from the kitchen hall made Angel want to go to it, roast his hands over it, warm his body. Actually, what he _really _wanted was to take a nice warm bath, or even a shower, as long as Collins would join him—

"Angel?"

"Hmm?"

"What're you whining about?"

"Oh," Angel swung his slender legs over the side of the couch, his flesh instantly turning to chicken skin upon being exposed to the cold air. In his shorts and tanktop, he made a pilgrimage to the kitchen and rubbed his hands over the steaming cups of tea, inducing Collins to nearly trip over him as he turned around with the cream in his hands.

"Where'd you come from?" Collins asked, smiling.

"The couch," Angel replied, "it's so damn cold in there!"

Collins laughed at his boyfriend's feeble remark. "Then why don't you put on something warmer?"

"Everything's in the wash," Angel complained. "Remember? They finally got the washing machine working again and I had to jam all my clothes in one of the washers. All I left out was summer clothes, and these are the warmest summer clothes I have." He frowned. "Why didn't I think of that? I'm an idiot."

"Don't say that," Collins whacked him playfully. "If anyone here is an idiot, that would be me."

"Sure, Mr. MIT."

"Got kicked out of MIT—"

"Mr. NYU."

"Fine, Adorable."

Angel smiled, and then blushed. He took his cup off the counter and walked back into the living room, putting his tea on a side table and curling up inside the blanket again. Sighing with content, he put the tea to his lips and swallowed, when Collins came walking into the room with a large, long sweater, and a pair of sweat pants.

"Put these on," Collins instructed, and Angel complied, slipping the sweatshirt over his tanktop and the pants over his shorts, not bothering to take them off.

"Thanks, honey," Angel grinned, "where would I be without you?"

"No idea."

They sat for a while, each of them pleasant with their tea and the other's company. Then, all of a sudden, Collins blurted out, "Hey, Angel? Will you love me when I'm old and ugly and fat and... old? And have white hair?"

Angel, who'd been taking a sip of his tea, nearly spit it out he was laughing so hard. When he successfully swallowed, he burst out into loud laughter, clutching his sides and bending over. "W-Where did _that _come from?" he asked between peals of laughter, his eyes filling with tears.

"I don't know," Collins had to chuckle himself. "I was just thinking."

"Oh, God, Thomas B. Collins, _thinking_—"

"_Heeeey_."

"Bad things happen to good people."

"I take offense!"

"Just for the record, Tommy B., _yes_, I will still love you when you're old and fat and ugly and have white hair. Though, I don't think you could ever be quite _ugly_, you know?" He smiled and winked at Collins.

Collins was barely paying attention, however, he was putting his cup of tea on the table and standing up, eyeing Angel with a twinkle in his eyes. "When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now," he sang to Angel, who was stifling giggles. "Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine?"

Now Angel _did _laugh, knowing the obvious answer to all off these odd questions that Collins suddenly had. Of course she'd always love him, in fact, she couldn't see herself with anyone else besides Collins. He was such a good guy, so easy to love.

"If I stay out till quarter to three, would you lock the door?" Collins asked, still singing, doing a dance around the couch that Angel was sitting cross-legged on. "Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?"

He jumped over the couch and took the tea cup carefully from Angel's hands, putting it on the table, then grabbing Angel's hands and pulling him up to dance. The two danced as Collins continued to sing. "You'll be older, too, and if you say the word, I could stay with you." He snuck a short kiss on Angel's cheek, and then broke away from him.

"I could be handy, mending a fuse, when your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday morning, go for a ride," he pointed out one of the long windows. "Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?"

He did a short tap dance sequence, and Angel burst into laughter again, watching as Collins skipped about their apartment in a festive manner. "Send me a postcard, drop me a line, stating point of view. Indicate precisely what you mean to say." He pointed to himself, "Yours sincerely, wasting away."

Angel followed him as he put one foot up on the coffee table, leaning in. "Give me your answer, fill in a form, mine for evermore. Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?"

He jumped down from the table and landed on the couch next to Angel, and put a kiss on his lips.

**A/N:** I took out the verse about the grandchildren and the Isle of Wight. It was easy to just take it out instead of trying to change lyrics.

I do not own the Beatles, or their song "When I'm Sixty-Four," I'm pretty sure Michael Jackson does. XD I wish I owned it, it's one of my favorites.

Review!

–Steph.


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